From [the graveyard at newtown church] by Matthew Kremer:i am not one of those people
who is capable of flushing
a friend down the toilet.
and so it occurred to me
in my walks up broadway
to try and bury him in the graveyard
at newtown church
which is this historical site
of sorts that nowadays functions
as some sort of community center.
at least i think so anyway.
maybe it's still an active parish.
i could never think of an excuse
to go into it myself.
the headstones in its little cemetery
section are the old chipping
slate variety.
they look like they're straight
out of the seventeenth century.
there is surprisingly little of this stuff
to be found in new york city
being a town that just tears things down
and builds them back up again.
4 comments:
Altho insured / Remember, kiddo
They don't pay you / They pay your widow / Burma-Shave
Told you folks / A lotta times
It ain't a poem / Unless it rhymes / GtheA
even better when you dont use caps:
i love life
life loves me
i'm as happy
as can be
a happier man
nowhere exists
i think i'll go
and slash my wrists.
Poetry is what you want it to be?
Don't you see?
That was a poem to me.
Now I'll have a cup of tea.
There's nothing to mourn about death any more than there is to mourn about the growing of a flower. What is terrible is not death but the lives people live or don't live up until their death. They don't honor their own lives, they piss on their lives. They shit them away. Dumb fuckers. They concentrate too much on fucking, movies, money, family, fucking. Their minds are full of cotton. They swallow God without thinking, they swallow country without thinking. Soon they forget how to think, they let others think for them. Their brains are stuffed with cotton. They look ugly, they talk ugly, they walk ugly. Play them the great music of the centuries and they can't hear it. Most people's deaths are a sham. There's nothing left to die.
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